


One Week Away

by littleboxesofstars



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Explicit Language, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Underage Drinking, Would be slow burn if it weren't these two idiots, just a couple of dudes being gay, just a couple of dudes being guys, just a couple of guys being dudes, wrestling as flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-07-31 08:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20112160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxesofstars/pseuds/littleboxesofstars
Summary: School is out for spring break, and the Losers are taking a week long trip to visit Beverly in Portland. Could there have been a worse time for Richie to realize that he was in love with his best friend?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After I read the IT book, bichie shot way up my fave ships list. The fact that it took me 8 months to actually write a fic for the two of them is neither here nor there, but this fic was just a fluffy mess that was super fun to write! the next part should be up within a couple of days. Enjoy!!

“Freedom!” Richie shouted, flinging his arms wide. “Spring break is upon us and we are ready to party, aren’t we boys?” 

“In moderation.” Stan said, Richie whirling on him incredulously as the group laughed.

“Moderation?” He asked back, sounding the word out slowly. “Stanley Mudstick Uris, why do you hate fun?”

“I’m not a stick in the mud.” Stan insisted. He glanced up at Mike’s face, bumping his boyfriend with his shoulder to get his attention. “I love fun. Tell Richie I love fun.”

“Stan loves fun.” Mike said obediently, grinning when Stan winked at him.

“Gross!” Richie pulled an exaggerated face. “Leave me out of your bawdy personal lives.”

“Stan’s right.” Eddie chimed in, from where he was walking next to Bill. “The only reason we can afford this trip is because Beverly’s uncle is letting us stay at his place for free. We can’t like… Get drunk and destroy his house.”

Eddie was right, but Richie didn’t want to admit that so he simply crossed his arms and fell into step next to Ben. Usually, the Losers had to wait until summer rolled around to get together, Beverly’s uncle always arranging the trip, buying the bus ticket and giving Beverly some spending money before sending her down to Derry. She stayed at Bill’s house, the Denbroughs grudgingly having to extend their hospitality to a majority of the Loser’s Club as well, because having Beverly in town was so rare and so wonderful that they all wanted to spend as much time with her as they could. 

Richie had always assumed that the adults were all on the same page about the vacation arrangements, but they weren’t; when Beverly’s aunt found out that she was spending nights at a boy’s house, she’d very nearly blown a gasket. She was angry about it for a while, mostly at Beverly’s uncle for allowing it--though Beverly took some of the heat by pointing out that she’d been friends with them for years and “hadn’t gotten pregnant _ yet”— _and the annual trip was cancelled. But the Club collectively decided that if Beverly couldn’t come to Derry to see them, they would just have to drive up to Portland to see her instead.

“Is everyone packed?” Ben asked. He’d had his suitcase ready for at least a week, Richie knew. 

“Nope.” Richie answered, grinning in the face of Ben, Stan, and Eddie’s collective disbelief. “Come on, guys! Everyone knows that all the best packing is done at the last minute. All of the things you forget to bring makes the trip unforgettable and exciting.”

“Like the time you went camping with my family and forgot all of your underwear?” Bill asked. His voice had the cadence of a joke, but was lacking the liveliness to pull it off. Richie decided to ignore that, beaming at Bill instead and looping an arm around his shoulders.

“Exactly like that!” He said happily, Bill barely cracking a smile back. They were on Bill’s street now, still walking in a pack. Everyone seemed to have made the silent decision to ignore the turning roads to their own houses and keep Bill company for at least a while longer. 

Bill was down in the dumps. His girlfriend of nine months had broken up with him just the day before, and from what Richie heard, it hadn’t been pretty; Mike was the only one around at the time to actually witness it. Secretly, Richie was glad for it, not that he would tell anyone so. The ex-girlfriend, Erika, had never liked him, seemingly more so than all of the rest of them. As a result, Richie had always found her to be a bit of a bitch. He didn’t want Bill to be with someone like her. Outwardly, Richie made sure he was compassionate and sympathetic. 

Sort of. He was just overall happy, and hoped his positive energy would help put a smile on Bill’s face too. The jury was still out on whether or not it was actually working.

They reached Bill’s house, Bill taking his backpack off at the door and flopping onto the couch with a decided lack of enthusiasm. Richie didn’t really understand why he was so torn up about the breakup, but Richie himself had never really been in a long-term relationship before, so maybe something about that made it different. Not that nine months was super long-term. Or maybe it was; nine months was how long it took to grow another human person, after all. It might be three years in “adult relationship time”, or something.

“This time tomorrow, I’ll be putting my arms around Bev and giving her a huge smooch.” He declared, dropping himself down on the couch next to Bill. He knew Ben was giving him a look but ignored it, elbowing Bill’s side instead. “You gonna give her a smooch too?”

“Sure.” Bill muttered, noticeably distracted. 

“You seem like you need a smooch. Want one from me, Big Bill?”

“What?” Bill finally seemed to tune in to the question, his face a sudden, firetruck red as he lurched away from Richie on the couch. Richie heard Mike and Stan both laughing.

“Don’t be gross.” Eddie reprimanded, but phrases like that were said to Richie so often that they all but bounced off him.

“But I think he needs a smooch, Eds! Pucker up.” He told Bill, leaning in. Bill made a disgruntled sort of noise as he was all but pounced on, catching Richie’s forearms with his hands and holding him at arm’s reach.

“Don’t deny our love, Billiam!” Richie exclaimed, leaning all of his weight into his attack, and Bill toppled over backwards, Richie landing on him. Bill still had him by the arms, but that defense had backfired; now Bill’s hands were trapped under Richie’s stomach, and their faces were close. Bill choked out a laugh, the sound breathlessly needy for oxygen due to Richie’s weight upon his chest, but it was a laugh all the same, lighting up his eyes a little. They stared at each other for a moment, at a bit of a stand still, Richie relishing in the grin he’d managed to put on Bill’s face. He considered completely following through with his threat--Bill’s lips were mere inches away--but didn’t, pressing a kiss to the tip of Bill’s nose instead.

Bill’s face lit up pink, and he closed his eyes, turning his head slightly as he laughed again.

“Fuck off, Rich.” He said, his smile growing the slightest bit more as he said the nickname, glancing up at Richie, and Richie’s breath all but stopped in his chest. 

Bill was pink from embarrassment, pink from Richie kissing him, but there was a light in his eyes and a smile on his lips, and_ god, _ Richie’s brain had gone completely blank, aside from a golden sort of happy feeling and a rush of exceptionally smitten-toned expletives. Bill was gorgeous. 

Bill’s body was firm and slightly arched, still pressed against Richie’s own and Richie scrambled backwards, suddenly terrified that Bill could feel how hard his heart was pounding. His hands now free, Bill stayed laying on his back, crossing his arms over his face, completely covering his eyes, and Richie just looked at him for a moment.

“Well, he’s smiling.” Mike pointed out. “Maybe he did need that kiss.” 

“Doctor Richie always knows what’s best.” Richie said, the words coming out more as a reflex than anything, and sounding a bit too preoccupied. Eddie made a face.

“Don’t call yourself that.”

“But I’m Doctor Richie!” Responding to Eddie was easier than sitting here in his own blushy embarrassment, and Richie jumped at the chance to tease him, puckering his lips so that the words were slightly muffled. “Do you need your meds too, Spaghetti?”

“You kissing me would actually send me to the hospital.” Eddie answered flatly, Richie jumping up from the couch and grabbing Eddie in a headlock.

“I’ve got to go home, and I’m taking Eddie with me.” He announced to the group, resting his chin on the top of Eddie’s head. “Anyone else want to help me pack?” 

“I can’t go into your room.” Eddie protested, but he didn't try to struggle away. “I’m not getting my tetanus booster shot until October.” 

Richie ignored the jibe, and after Stan offering to come along, they set off. Richie was surprised by Stan’s company, but once they got to Richie’s room and Stan the Man simply fixed him with a look, Richie knew that he wasn’t actually going to get any help with packing at all.

“What the hell was that?” Stan asked, sitting on Richie’s desk.

“What the hell was what?” Richie asked back, feigning innocence. Stan raised his eyebrows.

“I think he’s talking about you mauling Bill, Richie.” Eddie supplied, not entirely unhelpfully, and Richie let out a long groan, falling face first onto his bed.

“Shut… Shut up.” 

Stan let out a sigh, and Richie could only imagine the expression on his face. 

“So you admit it. You do like him.”

“No!” Richie scrambled up into a sitting position. A better stance to defend himself in, he figured. “It’s Bill. It’s just Bill; he’s my friend. So of course I like him, like, friend-wise. I’m a touchy guy. Kissing him on the nose isn’t a big deal. That’s all. No big deal.” 

He desperately wanted this to be no big deal. That the elation he’d felt when he heard that Erika and Bill had broken up was just good riddance to an evil witch, and not the alleviation of jealousy. The lurch in his chest at the proximity of Bill’s face, at the touch of Bill’s body. It was all no big deal. 

Stan rolled his eyes, fixing Richie with a bemused expression.

“What?” Richie finally asked him.

“You’re rambling like an idiot, so I’m just waiting for your pants to catch on fire, liar.” 

“Fuck off.” Richie said, while Eddie laughed. “He smiled at me, alright? I…”

“He smiled at you?” Stan gaped. “That’s your big defense?”

“I don’t like Bill, okay?!” Richie took a pillow from his bed and threw it at Stan, who just caught it from the air and threw it back. It knocked Richie’s glasses askew, only furthering Richie in his realization that he had no control of this situation; of this hole of realization he was digging himself in. “Just because… Just because I--”

“Because you can’t stop staring at him?” Eddie supplied. “Because you just, I don’t know, tackled him on the couch and kissed him on the nose?”

“I watched you look way too long at his ass yesterday.” Stan deadpanned. Richie threw another pillow at him, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. 

“You guys are delusional.” He insisted. “It’s nothing, I’m telling you. He’s smiled at me a hundred times. Maybe a thousand times! I don’t--”

Richie cut himself off, the realization that he's possibly been on the receiving end of a thousand Bill Denbrough smiles making his insides fill with a combination of affectionate mush and nervous butterflies. He covered his face with his hands.

“You’re pathetic.” Eddie informed him. 

“He's cute.” Richie mumbled through his fingers. “I think he's cute, okay? But that's it! I think Eddie is fucking adorable, and that's harmless enough, isn't it?”

“Sure, that's fine, but you don't want to suck Eddie's dick.” Stan said flatly.

“Stan!” Richie yelped, falling off his bed. He hit the floor with his hip and his elbow and winced. “I wasn't fucking thinking about Bill's dick.”

“And now you are. You're welcome.” 

“You're a goddamn menace.” Richie said through gritted teeth, and Stan just grinned, because yes, Richie was thinking about it now. He was thinking about Bill, his eyes closed and his face flushed, his skin pink all the way down his chest, his hands in Richie’s hair.

“Hey.” Eddie snapped his fingers in front of Richie’s face, the sound loud and close. “Don’t fucking have any fantasies while we’re here.” 

“It’s Stan’s fault.” Richie mumbled defensively, and went back to lying face down, but on the floor this time. “He’s Bill. He’s one of my best friends! How am I supposed to be his friend if I can’t stop thinking about his ass?”

“I did it.” Eddie said with a shrug. “It wasn’t too hard. I mean, he had his thing with Beverly going on at the time, so I never said anything, but--”

“Never said anything! No kidding Eds, really? You liked Bill?” Richie looked at Eddie first, then to Stan, who seemed thoroughly unsurprised by the news. So unconcerned, in fact, that Richie realized that this wasn’t news at all. “When?”

“Since I met him, maybe, until a couple years ago.” Eddie answered with a shrug. “He kinda made me realize I didn’t like girls.”

“Oh, shit. Why didn’t you ever tell me that Bill was your sexual awakening?”

“Because you would have made fun of me.”

“Me? Why would I tease you about wanting Big Bill’s big--” 

The rest of Richie’s sentence was muffled as Eddie stepped on his face. After the sixth joke at the expense of Eddie’s old crush Eddie and Stan declared themselves to be leaving, the both of them reminding him to pack a suitcase as they stepped out the door. But Richie just returned to his bedroom floor, watching his fan make slow circles on the ceiling and letting his mind wander. His thoughts never strayed far from Bill Denbrough.

It was late in the evening when his house phone rang. Richie sprang to answer it. 

“Pip pip and tally-ho! Richie Tozier speaking.”

“Oh my god.” Came a voice, though there was an amused tone to it. “I miss your stupid ass.”

“Beverly!” Richie beamed. “Can’t wait to see you tomorrow, girl!” 

“Right back atcha.” Beverly sighed. “I talked to Bill earlier, finalizing stuff, and he mentioned that you hadn’t packed yet. So I wanted to check in. Got that stuff in a suitcase yet?”

“Not… Exactly.” Richie was so far behind on the packing process that he didn’t even know where in his house his suitcase was. In the garage somewhere, maybe. Or in his closet. “But I don’t really need to bring anything, you know? I’ve worn your clothes before. I could do it again.”

Beverly laughed. “That might be a bit too fashion forward. I don’t think the city of Portland is ready for Richie Tozier in a sundress that definitely does not fit him.”

“Most cities aren’t.” Richie admitted. Beverly laughed again, a lull falling in conversation. Richie was about to open his mouth, figuring he’d realize where the sentence was going after he’d started it, when Beverly spoke up instead.

“So, about Bill.”

“Wha-what about him?” After thinking about Bill for the past couple of hours, it was weird to hear someone else mention his name out loud.

“Didn't his heart get completely curb-stomped the other day?” Beverly asked. Richie let out a breath. 

“Oh, right.” The breakup.

“I asked him if he was alright, and of course he said that he was fine, but I'm not going to believe him. What do you think?”

“He's kinda sad, but he'll be okay.”

“Yeah.” Beverly sighed. “A girl like that isn't worth being upset over.”

Richie raised his eyebrows, though he knew Beverly couldn't see it. 

“Yeah?” He asked hesitantly.

“Come on Richie. We all know you hated her.”

“She hated me first!”

“Everyone kind of hates you at first.” Beverly said, but there was an amusement in her voice that kept the blow from stinging. “But from what I've heard, she was a bit of a bitch.” 

Richie let himself fall into one of the chairs in the living room, the phone cord barely long enough to let him sit down. 

“I am so glad you said that.” He murmured, and Beverly burst out laughing.

“So you do hate her!” She exclaimed.

“She's a bitch!” Richie exclaimed back, Beverly falling into giggles across the line.

“I mean, I've never met her, but the way she always disregarded Bill's sexuality, but then always accused him of cheating whenever you guys hung out together, it's--”

“Wait, what?” Richie interrupted, positive he'd misheard her. There was a frown in Beverly's voice as she answered. 

“How she told Bill he was just confused when he told her he wasn't only attracted to girls? They fought about it a lot, I heard.”

“Bill… Bill likes guys?” Richie asked slowly. He felt as though he'd been hit over the head with a steel beam. “He's only dated girls. He's not just into girls?”

“He…” Now Beverly was talking slowly, sounding concerned. “He never told you?”

“No.” 

The silence was deafening. Richie was biting so hard on the side of his tongue that there was an ache in his jaw when Beverly spoke again. 

“I just--I just thought--and all the other Losers know, I swear we've talked about--I would never out him on purpose, I just figured--”

“Beverly.” Richie said quickly, able to hear his friend spiraling.

“You two are so close, I just figured he would have told you.”

“I… Yeah.” Richie didn't know what to think. He and Bill had been friends for years, been close for years; he didn't blame Beverly for thinking that he would know something that Bill had apparently told everybody else. Something he had told all of the Losers but him. “No, he's never told me. Or like… Insinuated anything, even. We all make jokes to each other and stuff--hell, I kissed him on the nose today--but…” 

Richie trailed off, his mind full of racing thoughts that overlapped and crashed into each other, conglomerating together into a huge mass of _ holy shit _and and an overload of question marks. 

“...you okay?” Beverly asked after a moment. The question drew Richie from his thoughts, and he gave his head a little shake. 

“Yeah, yeah. But I've gotta pack, alright? I'll see you soon.” 

Beverly was quiet for a long moment, as though she was considering Richie's attempt to escape the conversation and wondering whether or not to let him go.

“Alright.” She allotted, and Richie gave an internal sigh of relief. “See you tomorrow, Richie.” 

The line went dead, but Richie stayed sitting in the chair, feeling slightly shell-shocked. Bill likes guys. _ Bill likes guys. _

It took a long, long time for the knowledge to sink in, to feel like a reality, simply repeating the phrase over and over in his mind, going over what Beverly had said, wanting to make sure he wasn't misinterpreting the words. Then, after that, he knew he needed to let Bill know. Bill deserved to be aware of who knew and who didn't, trying to concoct a joke that wasn't too insensitive. Distraction came fast and frequent as he paced around his house, half lumping together some of the essentials he would need for the trip, half thinking about the fact that _ fuck, Bill likes guys. _He didn't start genuinely searching for his suitcase until well past midnight.

“Rise and shine, fucker!” 

The rude greeting cut through Richie's subconscious, and even in his barely-awake state, he recognized the voice as Eddie's. It was followed seconds later by violent hushing, and Ben's voice, considerably quieter.

“His parents are awake.” 

“Oh shit, that's right.” Eddie muttered back. 

“How fucking early is it?” Richie grumbled at the two of them, still unwilling to open his eyes.

“It's already after eight, you lazy asshole.” That was Bill's voice, and in spite of himself Richie felt a smile tug at his lips, opening his eyes a crack. The three of them were standing next to his bed, Eddie by his head and Ben by his feet, Bill in the middle. “We came to get you last. Mike already put your suitcase in the car.”

“How thoughtful. You guys doing all the work for me.” Richie extended his arms dramatically towards his friends. “I think you all should carry me to the car, too.” 

Eddie slapped his hands down, telling him to shut up, while Bill laughed.

“Come on, get out of bed Richie.”

Richie stuck his tongue out. “No.”

“Bite me, Tozier.”

“Where, Denbrough?”

“Oh, fuck you.” Bill met his eyes, and Richie was delighted to see a bit of a blush on his cheeks. “Get up.”

“Make me.”

Barely a second passed, as though Bill was considering his options, and then Bill jumped on him. 

Bill's landing hurt, bony limbs hitting bony limbs, Bill's elbow digging into his stomach. Richie let out a yelp, struggling under him, able to hear Bill's quiet laughter close to his ear. Then Bill's fingers found his sides under the mess of blankets, one hand traveling up his shirt, and Richie yelled out a curse. 

He slid from the bed and onto the floor, where Ben grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Not fair!” Richie exclaimed. Bill sat up in his bed, a triumphant grin on his face, his hair wonderfully disheveled. 

“Not my fault you're the most ticklish motherfucker in existence.” Bill said, and with Eddie leading the way, they marched him out of his room. He yelled a goodbye to his parents, and while he knew they would be upset with him for not stopping into their room to say a more proper farewell, now that he was upright, he was excited and ready to go. They were going to go visit Beverly. 

Mike and Stan were kissing up against the hood of the car when they got there. Richie wolf-whistled as they walked up, but Stan simply took one of his arms from around Mike's neck and flipped him off. They all piled into the car, Mike driving and Stan in the passenger seat, Eddie clambering into the back row with all of the suitcases, leaving Bill, Richie, and Ben to squeeze across the middle row together. Richie found himself between the two of them, and while the drive was only going to take two hours, he began to worry about bothering them with his restlessness.

As it turned out, Ben was the more restless one, too eager to arrive and see Beverly again. Bill was an exact opposite, his head drooping, and after a mere fifteen minutes, he was asleep. 

For a couple of moments his head simply lolled before Mike took a turn and he leaned, falling against Richie's chest. Unwilling to let Bill fall forwards, Richie reached an arm around Bill's shoulders, pulling him close. Bill let out a breath that sounded like a sigh, resting against him more comfortably, and Richie's heart leapt in his chest, realizing something that should have occurred to him last night, but had been largely overshadowed by the other news.

Bill liked guys… And Richie was a guy. 

A wild, giddy excitement coursed through him for a couple of moments, looking down at Bill's sleeping face. He looked so pretty, his expression peaceful, his eyelashes resting against the soft skin of his cheeks. Richie's eyes caught on his lips, and he wanted to kiss Bill so much that it hurt.

A cough from the front of the car interrupted this wishful thinking, Richie looking up to see an expression on Stan's face that told him he wasn't exactly being subtle. Richie was equal parts annoyed and grateful by Stan's attempt to help him keep himself in check, sighing and directing his attention out the window instead. His mind wandered to his conversation with Beverly for the umpteenth time, remembering her surprise at his ignorance.

_"You_ _ two are so close, I just figured he would have told you.”_

Now that the shock of the information was wearing off, this bit was nagging at him. The completely unexpected secrecy. It was a selfish thought, the idea that Richie was entitled to Bill's life, to the privacy of Bill's thoughts, but he couldn't help but feel upset. Because this wasn't a secret that Bill was holding from everyone. Beverly had known, and from the way she had talked about it, so had everybody else. Bill had even told that she-devil of a now-ex-girlfriend. Bill had told everyone but him.

Which meant one thing: he didn't want Richie to know. The question was _why. _

_ Because he doesn't like you. _His mind supplied, helpful as always. _He didn't want you to think you had a chance. Because you don't._

That may be true, but that didn't mean Richie wanted to hear it. Richie knew that whatever the reason, he shouldn't even be troubling himself with this; he should feel bad for Bill, for just being broken up with. He should worry about his friend being sad. That should be his most pressing concern. Rationally, Richie knew he had no reason to feel so upset, and he recognized that.

He was upset anyway.

The ride was a short one, and before any of them knew it, they had arrived. It was easy to find Beverly’s uncle’s house because Beverly was standing in front of it, and began jumping up and waving as soon as they started up the street. Stan rolled down his window.

“Beverly!” He exclaimed at her, and she beamed, running up to the car as soon as they were in front of the house. The shout startled Bill awake, jolting up off him, looking out the window instead of looking Richie in the eye. 

Beverly hugged them all and kissed their cheeks in the order that they left the car, and as a result Richie was third person to greet her, wrapping her tight in his arms and pressing a kiss to the side of her head. 

“I missed you so much.” 

“I know.” She answered with a little laugh. She pulled back, looking him over, her expression a little more serious. “About Bill--”

“I haven't told him yet.” Richie said quickly. “I didn't really know how, but I--”

“Let me do it then. It's my fault anyway.” She said quickly, giving him a quick pat on the cheek before stepping past him to get to Bill, who had just gotten from the car. Richie watched them for a moment, Beverly hugging him before stepping back, pushing his bangs from his forehead, holding his hands, all while talking quietly. Bill's eyes widened, flicking to Richie for a moment, and a rush of fear went through Richie's chest, averting his eyes, jerking away to help Ben with the suitcases. 

Mike was the last one from the car, lifting Beverly up in his arms to carry her inside. They crossed the threshold bridal style, Richie cheering and clapping for them, making both of them laugh. He was still trying not to look at Bill, because he could still feel Bill's eyes on him.

“Hey, boys.” Beverly's uncle was in the kitchen, catching their attention with the greeting. He was a short man, balding around the top, his hair light and thin. He had a nice, good natured smile though, and Richie smiled back at him. 

“Thank you so much for letting us stay, sir.” Mike said, ever the gentleman, putting Beverly back down on her own feet. Everyone followed his lead, thanking him as well, but he waved them all off.

“Of course. I know how much Beverly cares about all of you. It just wouldn't be fair, otherwise. I'm going to duck out, and let you all hang out for the night, and I just have a couple or rules.”

They nodded in unison, and he laughed at them a little before continuing.

“Clean up after yourselves. No drugs, no sex, and if you're going to drink, do it in the house. But if you do, you'll have to pay me back for whatever liquor is gone, and don't any of you throw up on my favorite chair.”

He pointed, all of them following to see a well worn leather recliner in the living room behind Eddie. Eddie sprung away from it, and Beverly's uncle laughed again. That was the end of his list, greeting them all individually to get their names--or, to put faces to the names he'd heard from Beverly, to put real people to all the pictures he'd seen--on his way out. At the door, he paused. 

“Check in with me before you go out anywhere.” He said, but this was directed at his niece only, Beverly nodding back. “And if you do get up to any shenanigans… Don't tell your aunt about them.”

The last sentence got a laugh from Beverly, and after that he was gone.

“He's staying the night at a hotel.” Beverly explained. “He said he didn't want to bother us.”

“He seems cool.” Stan said, and Beverly nodded. 

“He is. My aunt is great too, but she's more protective, I guess. It makes sense that she would be, being my mom's sister. I'm just glad that he stuck around, even after they got divorced. I was a little nervous about him at first, but he's everything that my dad, you know… Wasn't. He makes my aunt's overbearing personality a little more manageable.”

They began moving their suitcases from the living room, trying to figure out where to stash their stuff. The house had two bedrooms, Stan and Mike instantly branching off into one of them. Richie ran into the second one, flopping onto the bed. 

“If Richie's sleeping in here, I'm taking the couch.” Eddie declared. 

“Eds! I thought you loved me!” Richie wailed, just for the drama of it, and Eddie let out a snort.

“I do, dickwad, but I can't share a living space with you. Your messiness makes my eye twitch.”

“Mind if we share the couch?” Beverly asked Eddie. “For tonight, at least. I brought a bunch of blankets over.”

“I'll stay in there too.” Ben said quickly, Richie's stomach sinking as he realized what that meant. There was only one other option. 

“I guess we're roommates.” Bill said, throwing his hoodie at Richie's head. It landed there, covering Richie's face, and for that Richie was grateful. He still hadn't really looked at Bill yet.

There were sounds of the others leaving, and Richie was alone, he figured, letting out a long sigh. Then a weight settled on the mattress, heavy, near Richie's legs.

“So, uh…”

_Fuck_. It was Bill, goddamnit, clearing his throat awkwardly. 

“Yeah?” Richie supplied, horrifyingly unhelpful. 

“Beverly t-told you.” Bill said quietly, both matter-of-factly and questioningly at once, as though he wanted to know Richie's thoughts, but wouldn't change, regardless of what those thoughts were.

“I… Yeah.” Richie said again. It was achingly quiet for a second, and then Richie realized how shitty of a response that was, sitting up fast. The hoodie somehow stayed on his head, the strings hanging down in front of his face. “But like, it's fine. Of course it's fine. I'd be a gross goddamn hypocrite otherwise, and anyway, Beverly didn't mean anything bad by it, it was an honest mistake, she just thought…”

_She just thought I already knew. _The words got stuck in Richie's throat halfway through, because they led to a plethora of difficult questions, the front-runner being _why didn't you tell me?_

Then Bill met his eyes, looking fully at him for a moment before his face folded into laughter, the happy sound leaving him as he leaned slightly closer, his eyes falling closed.

“What?” Richie asked, unable to help feeling amused himself.

“You look hilarious.” Bill told him, reaching up to bat at one of the hoodie strings. It swayed in front of Richie's face, and instantly the tense and anxious mood was broken, Richie laughing too.

The seven of them spent the evening in the living room together. Beverly ordered pizzas and they piled onto the blankets she brought, talking, filling each other in on what they'd missed while they'd been apart. Beverly was in the middle about some story about her two young nephews--one eight, the other ten--when Stan stopped her.

“Hold on. If you couldn't keep coming to Derry because you were being left alone with us, then how come you're allowed to sleep over here?” 

“Well, my aunt thinks my uncle is here too.” Beverly began, then adopted a slightly awkward expression, her eyes shifting to the side, with a bit of a grin. “And… She also kinda thinks I'm a lesbian now.”

“Are you?” Eddie asked, and she shook her head.

“What Bill and I had was very real.” She declared dramatically, draping an arm around Bill's shoulders. Bill laughed, resting against the embrace for a moment before she continued. “But I mean… I did kinda have a girlfriend for a few weeks, a couple months ago.” 

Richie felt his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. Beverly hadn't told him that--what was with people leaving him out about this stuff?--but he noted, with a slight feeling of relief, that it didn't look like she'd told anyone else, either. 

“Yeah?” Mike asked, his eyebrows raised. The mood in the room was slightly tense; Richie could feel Beverly’s discomfort as she waited for them to respond to her confession, as well as the awkwardness from the rest of his friends as they tried for both supporting and nonchalant at the same time. Well, except for Ben, who was going for the complex mixture of supportive and brokenhearted. 

“Yeah.” Beverly answered. “She was really cool, but we didn’t really click.”

“What’s kissing a girl like?” Eddie asked, a grin on his face. “Will I like it as much as my mom keeps insisting I will?” 

There was a chorus of laughs, and just like that, the tension broke. Beverly reached over, ruffling his hair.

“I thought it was pretty damn great, but doesn’t seem like your thing.” She told him, winking, and Eddie grinned back.

Conversation shifted all over again, the seven of them wandering around different topics for hours while they slowly melted into the pillows and blankets around them. Richie was squished between Eddie and Mike, and was getting increasingly more comfortable the longer the night wore on, happy to be with all his friends. There was an indescribable, unbeatable feeling that came when all of them were together; a feeling of completeness, and Richie nestled himself in it, allowing it to glow within him, and when the early hours came, he felt himself drifting off.

When Richie woke up the room was dark, and all of them had been completely swamped in the mess of bedding and couch cushions that had gotten more haphazard as they'd all moved in sleep. Eddie’s head had shifted onto his stomach at some point in the night and was compressing his ribs and other organs in a rather uncomfortable way, Richie guessing that sensation was what had woken him up. He shifted towards the center of the group, pushing himself away from the couch with his legs and ramming his head into something hard. 

Wincing and hissing out a curse, Richie found that the hard thing had been Bill’s knee. Bill was resting on his side, but at the collision he murmured in his sleep and rolled, laying now on his chest. And Richie was now faced with the realization that Bill’s butt was there, just there, right next to him. So he lifted his head up, and after a moment, plopped his head down onto it.

Bill shifted again.

“I, fuckin--” His voice was rough in the best way, sleepy and slightly confused. He lifted his head up just a bit, just enough to turn and see what was happening. When he did, he let out a sigh.

“I hate you, Richie.” He mumbled, but made no move to force Richie off him, and Richie just grinned.

“Love you too, Big Bill.”

“Yeah.” Bill’s voice was nothing more than a murmur; he must have been going back to sleep. “I know.” 

Richie let his own eyes fall closed. 

When he woke up again, it was late in the day. His head was on a pillow now, and Stan was staring down at him.

“Howdy, Stanley.” Richie said, putting a southern twang in the words. Stan nudged Richie's side lightly with his foot.

“Get up. Mike made food.” 

It wasn't until Stan mentioned it that Richie noticed the air, smelling of warm waffles and bacon. He let out a groan, stretching and sitting up.

“I'm gonna marry your boyfriend.” He told Stan, who raised his eyebrows, a grin on his face.

“I'd like to see you try.”

Breakfast was amazing, and while they ate they tried to think of what to do with the day. All attempts at brainstorming got quickly derailed by other conversation, and it soon became too late in the day to put any grand plans into motion, settling on going to a thrift store with Beverly. 

It was a fifteen minute walk, Stan and Mike entwining hands as soon as they all stepped outside. There was a chorus of faux hurling sounds from all of the rest of them, Mike kissing Stan’s cheek in retaliation to their teasing while Stan lifted the middle finger on his free hand and waved it around. Beverly stepped to the head of the pack to lead the way and fell into a conversation with Ben and Eddie, and Richie ended up behind them next to Mike. It was fine for a little while, listening to their talk and interjecting with something witty where he could, but he soon got tired of watching Ben and Beverly’s hands touch lightly before jumping away again, heaving a sigh and looking for something to do. 

His eyes landed on Bill, who was on Stan’s other side and laughing about something. As nimbly as he could, Richie snuck behind him, reached around, and poked Bill’s cheek. 

Bill blinked in surprise for a moment, as though he had to take a second to process what had just happened. Then his face broke out into a smile, a smile that was completely paralyzing, and he jabbed Richie in the neck in retaliation. Richie squawked in shock, jumping away, Bill’s loud laugh following him. They poked at each other all the way to the store, Richie ignoring the pointed looks he was getting from both Eddie and Stan. 

As they entered the store, Richie more or less followed his friends as they wandered around. He was rather bad at buying himself clothes, having too much fun holding up odd clothing he found to show the others. Most were t-shirts in awful colors or with funny things on them, and ended up purchasing one: a bright orange shirt with badly drawn q-tips scattered in a pile, the words ‘JUST THE TIP’ curved over them in bold blue lettering. Richie said that it was hilarious. Stan said that as soon as they got back to Derry, he was going to burn it. 

“Aw, you just wanna get me outta my clothes!” Richie said, putting on the southern bell voice he’d used towards Stanley earlier, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly and swiping a hand at him, showing off his horribly paint-chipped fingernails.

They left the store two hours later, none of them with many purchases, but the trip was still a fun adventure. Beverly suggested going to an ice cream parlor around the block. She had ended up with the most stuff, somehow able to sort through all the clothes to find cute, vintage things in her size. Richie suspected she had some kind of fashion-sonar ability. 

Once they all had their ice cream in hand, they took a quick walk to the nearest park, squeezing together around a small picnic table to eat. Spring break in Portland wasn’t exactly warm per se, but ice cream was a year-round snack no matter what. 

Richie only stayed seated for as long as it took to chomp down on the ice cream and demolish the cone--getting called a monster by Stan, Eddie, and Beverly for being able to use his teeth on something that cold--before hopping up again. Then he went back to bothering Bill like it was his job.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Richie knew he might be acting annoying, or too obvious, or something otherwise related, but he couldn’t help it. He just--he couldn’t stop touching Bill, couldn’t stop wanting his attention, and didn’t have the self control needed to reign himself in. But even so, he supposed it was harmless, right? Hell, he was even making Bill laugh. That had to be a good thing.

The poking continued, quickly escalating to tag now that they had an entire park to run through, and while Richie’s legs were longer, Bill had better stamina. Bill’s hand connected with Richie’s back, interrupting his attempt to lurch away, causing him to trip on a little bit of grass and a whole lot of nothing and tumble to the ground. 

Bill stopped next to him, bent forwards slightly and letting out a breathless laugh. 

“Alright, Rich?” He asked, meeting Richie’s eyes. The fall hadn’t really hurt, but Richie stayed on his back, unable not to watch Bill’s parted lips as he breathed, the small line of sweat running down his cheek from his temple. Despite not getting an answer Bill didn’t ask again, reaching a hand down to help Richie up. Richie grabbed it, but tightened his grip and used it instead to pull Bill down.

That did hurt a little, the bony frames of two teenage boys colliding with each other. Bill tried not to fall on Richie, but Richie refused to move out of the way, and as a result one of Bill’s knees planted into Richie’s stomach. The other knee landed clear of him, on one side of his waist, Bill’s free hand hitting the ground hard next to Richie’s head. 

“Jesus, Richie--” Bill started, but before Richie could get too caught up in having Bill hovering over him, he let Bill’s hand go and dug all ten of his fingers into Bill’s sides. The sound Bill made was a wonderful mix of a curse, a laugh, and a shout of his name as he tried to roll away from the tickling and grab at Richie’s hands at the same time. It was fun, Bill was _ laughing, _skin touching skin as they wrestled in the grass. Richie got breathless fast, Bill pinning him to the ground and grabbing his wrists with a victorious sort of laugh.

“Do I win?” Bill asked, as Richie’s--admittedly, half-hearted--attempt to squirm away proved fruitless. Being in this position didn’t feel like a loss in the slightest, but Richie had a facade to keep.

“Bite me, Denbrough.”

“Where, Tozier?” 

And that--_that _was too much, especially in the way Bill had said it, with the conquering grin on his lips. And maybe Bill could feel it, with the way his grip on Richie’s wrists slackened, the way his cheeks and neck began to flush. 

Before Richie could react however, there was a wolf-whistle from the table where the rest of their friends were sitting, and the reality of the situation fully sank in. Bill shot up off him like a bottle rocket.

“This is the public indecency police!” Eddie called out. Richie didn’t have the energy to get up, laying flat on his back in the grass. He lifted up his arms to flip them all off for interrupting whatever the hell had just happened, and stared up at the cloud-scattered sky. 

Dinner was mostly Mike trying to teach Bill and Ben how to do various things in the kitchen. Stan was watching, a little too enamored by Mike’s kind display of patience, and Eddie was flitting around in an anxious attempt to keep any cutting board cross contamination from occurring. Richie was just sitting on the kitchen table, watching Bill’s concentrated expression as he attempted to dice a clove of garlic, his staring interrupted as Beverly grabbed his arm and yanked him none too gently into the living room and out of earshot.

“You like Bill!” She accused. Before Richie could attempt any denials, excuses, or explanations, she continued in the same breath “--and you didn’t tell me!” 

“I haven’t told anyone!” Richie protested. Then he realized he’d admitted it--though he wasn’t sure why denying it had even been a part of his plan--pushing his free hand through the mess of curls on his head. “Is it that obvious?” 

“So obvious. Like… Kind-of-gross level of obvious.” 

Richie bit down on his bottom lip, unsure of what he should or could say. 

“This, uh… It’s new.” 

Beverly’s face told Richie she didn’t believe him. Richie didn’t blame her. It wasn’t new, not really, just new to him in a realization kind of way. 

“I’m serious!” He insisted. “I didn’t like, admit it to myself or whatever until the day before yesterday. I don’t… I don’t know. I already had a minimal freak out about it. We’ve always been close and stuff, but now it’s like I can’t leave him alone.”

Her expression turned to something more sympathetic. “Who else knows?” She asked.

“Well, Stan had to tell me, so him. And Eddie. And since Stan knows, I guess Mike does to. So, the only people that don’t know might just be Ben.” A brick fell into Richie’s stomach. “D’you think--you said _ obvious, _do you think Bill--” 

“Probably not.” Beverly said, placing a reassuring hand on Richie’s shoulder. “Probably not. Though, if you don’t stop pawing at him, he’s bound to figure it out.” 

“I don’t think I want to stop pawing at him.” Richie admitted, and Beverly let out a little bit of a laugh. 

“Of course you don’t. You don’t have a single bit of patience in you.”

“I can be patient!”

“I once saw you eat a marshmallow that was still on fire.”

“Why do I need to be patient?” 

“Because he just got out of a nine month relationship.” Beverly had a frown on her face. “You said that he was kinda broken up about it. You don’t want to be a rebound, do you?” 

Richie fell silent for a moment. He couldn’t help but feel that maybe, that might be worth it.

“No.” He finally admitted. “No, I don’t.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2! The underage drinking warning applies to this chapter. This fic gave me the fluff fix I needed - the next thing will have an actual plot to it, I promise. Thank you for reading!

After dinner they all squeezed onto the couch to watch a movie, making the collective decision to do nothing tomorrow. Any time they tried to make plans the conversation just devolved into talking, so it made more sense to not make a plan and simply hang out for a while; maybe that would get all of the chatting out of their system. Richie didn’t think it was too bad of an idea; catching up and spending time together was the main point of the trip, after all. If the group did have the wild hair the next day to go out and do something instead, they would. 

They woke up in as much of a pile as they fell asleep in. Beverly and Ben made muffins for breakfast while they all slowly migrated to the kitchen and lazed around the kitchen table. The whole scene was entirely too domestic, Richie getting exhausted just watching the way Beverly and Ben danced around each other: compliments that were said a little too seriously to be played off as just friendly, glances that lingered a little too long, especially if the other person wasn’t looking. After watching the particularly excruciating game of hand-footsie during their walk yesterday though, Richie wasn’t sure what he was expecting. He just didn’t know what was taking the two of them so long. 

Then they all just talked. And talked. The flow of conversation was natural, exciting, and fun; despite the lack of an activity, Richie didn’t find himself ever getting bored. There was the background noise of music, or the TV playing something that no one was really paying any attention to, but they weren’t needed. They talked about the gossip at school about people that they didn’t really know, but it didn’t matter because the drama of it all made it entertaining anyway. They talked about plans for college—an exciting idea, because Beverly would be going with them—and what their parents thought about those plans. Every once and awhile someone would get up for food or to shower or whatever else they needed, the group shifting around between the kitchen and the living room. Naturally, it wasn’t until late that the more serious topics were breached. 

“Okay, Bill.” Mike said. He and Stan were taking up the entirety of the couch; Mike was simply sitting on it, but Stan had his head resting against his boyfriend with his body draped across the rest of the cushions. Stan looked so content and comfortable, holding Mike’s hand with one of his own and tracing patterns on it with the free fingers of the other, that Richie couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed at them. 

“What?” Bill asked back. He was on the floor, sitting between Richie and Ben. The side of his sock-clad foot kept knocking against Richie’s own, and it was all Richie had not to smile like an idiot every time they touched. 

“Your breakup. Seriously; how are you holding up?” 

“You don’t have to answer.” Beverly was sitting in her uncle’s favorite chair, Eddie on one of the overstuffed arm rests with his legs draped across her lap. “If you don’t want to talk about it.” 

“I…” Bill sounded hesitant, trailing off, and Richie couldn’t help himself. He caused a distraction, lifting his leg and replacing it down so that it was over Bill’s own, his foot on the ground between both of Bill’s. Bill looked at him questioningly, but Richie didn’t really have a plan, so he just poked Bill in the face again. 

There was a bit of a scuffle after that. Bill got Richie in a headlock, Richie slumping against him in a dramatic display of choking that had his friends laughing. To his surprise though, Bill let Richie slide down his chest after releasing him, until Richie’s head was in his lap. Then he threaded his fingers through Richie’s hair like it was automatic. 

“I’m o-okay, I think.” The words were completely unprompted, but they all knew that they were an answer to Mike’s question. Bill drew in a breath, slightly stuttering, and Richie didn’t dare look at him. “Better now that we’re spending some time out of town. I’m kinda worried about what she might say about me, but I think that’s a sign that our relationship should have e-ended way before it did.”

“Why did you date her in the first place?” Eddie asked. The question could have been condescending, and his tone made it almost seem that way, but they all knew Eddie, and Eddie’s pattern of speaking, and could tell that it came from a place of genuine confusion and care.

“Well, I did like her. And she was pretty.” Richie didn’t really want to hear this, but Bill’s hand was keeping his head in place, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they traced patterns across his scalp. “But… I think I was dating someone just to date someone, you know? Like I needed to be in a relationship. And then we just… Stayed together.”

“Needed to be in a relationship?” Stan asked. Bill’s fingers stopped moving. “Why?” 

A long silence. Then Bill shrugged. 

“I just did.” 

Nobody pressed him, Mike instead launching into a funny story about something Stan did, much to the protest of his boyfriend. When the tale was half told and Bill’s fingers still hadn’t moved from their place next to Richie’s ear, Richie nudged at Bill’s thigh with his cheek. 

Bill leaned close, his voice quiet. “What?” 

“Feels good.” Richie murmured back, and Bill laughed a little, nothing more than an amused exhale, and went back to playing with his hair. Richie was asleep before Mike’s story was over.

The next day, they went to see Beverly’s new bedroom and meet her aunt. She was a kind enough woman, but as Beverly said, was overbearing and seemed rather stressed, like she was tightrope walking across her last nerve, her shoulders taught in an attempt not to fall. Part of that stress, Richie had to assume, came from the invasion of six teenage boys that she did not know into her home, but he felt the majority of it had to come from the scuffling tangle of limbs on the floor--with yells, and what looked like wild attempts to lick each other, because wrestling was fun and spit was gross--that were Beverly’s two young nephews. 

The two boys, eight and ten years old, were loud and messy like all little kids are, but were behaved enough and nice enough to still introduce themselves with proper handshakes and do as they were asked. Beverly clearly had a fun relationship with them, taking one in the crook of each elbow and blowing raspberries on the tops of their heads while they shrieked and laughed and struggled to escape. But they more or less kept to themselves and stayed out of the way, returning for dinner hours later with dirt on their faces and knees but washed hands. 

They were rowdy, but Richie didn’t realize that they were exactly his brand of rowdy until, seated next to the eight-year old at dinner, he noticed the boy trying to catapult food at his brother with his spoon and failing miserably, pea after pea rolling into his lap instead. What, was he not supposed to give the kid a couple of pointers?

Soon, they were all stealth snipers with their vegetables, trying to hit those across the table. At one point, all three of them hit Ben in the chest at the same time, with Beverly going on the defensive and managing to lob a whole piece of broccoli back at Richie. Eddie was an excellent shot, and Richie raised his spoon a little higher than necessary in an attempt to hit Stan in the face when a shout rang out.

“No throwing food!” 

Beverly’s aunt had finally noticed them. Mike had been distracting her with a story--Mike was excellent at making other people’s parents love him--but that distraction couldn’t last forever. Everyone else quickly pretended to eat, but Richie was too far to back out and let the peas on his spoon fly. One of them hit Stan square in the forehead. Richie got chewed out rather thoroughly for being a bad influence on her boys, but the mischievous admiration now in the kids’ eyes when they looked at him felt more than worth it. 

The meal was almost over when something hit Richie in the chest. He looked down quickly, seeing a pea roll across his lap and onto the floor. He looked to Beverly first, but she was telling some story about school, then to Stan--revenge, perhaps?--to see that all the peas on Stan’s plate were gone.

Bill was grinning at him, quickly putting his spoon back on the tabletop, as not to be caught. Richie gaped at him slightly, his cheeks going a hot red as Bill winked at him before returning to his food. Richie had half a mind to pick the pea back up and keep it forever.

The group decided that they would actually do something the next day, attempting to employ the ‘early to bed, early to rise’ method. ‘Early to bed’ was considered sometime before midnight, so when Richie launched himself onto the mattress in Beverly’s uncle’s spare bedroom at 11:58, he felt rather accomplished. Then Bill entered the room, looking achingly comfortable in sweatpants and a soft tank-top, and a streak of panic cut through Richie’s chest. Oh right. They were sharing a room. They were sharing a  _ bed _ .

It wasn’t even a question. They’d been sleeping over in each other’s beds since elementary school--it would have been catastrophically strange for Richie to dive onto the floor like he so desperately wanted to do and insist that he would sleep there. So he simply had to sit, attempt to swallow his tongue, and act like everything was fine as Bill slid under the covers next to him. 

It was a large mattress, so while they weren’t actually touching, it was a near thing. It would have been incredibly easy for Richie to just move his hand even a couple of inches and touch some part of Bill; he could feel the heat of Bill’s body across the sheets. Or, it would be easy to do in the physical sense, at least--he wasn’t sure he could handle something like that without combusting, at least on an emotional level. 

Bill was still and quiet. So still and so quiet, in fact, that Richie would have thought him asleep aside for his breathing. It wasn’t the simple, deep and rhythmic breathing of someone off in dreamland. Or so Richie thought. Thirty minutes into Richie’s ongoing attempt not to have a heart attack, Bill made a slight and soft sort of moaning sound, shifting with his eyes closed and rolling, one arm snaking its way across Richie’s chest, shuffling over to him. 

Bill was now very, very close, legs side by side and touching all the way up to the hip. The extension of Bill’s arm across his chest had Bill’s upper body so close that his forehead was pressed into Richie’s shoulder. Richie had never known Bill to be particularly clingy in sleep, not in the way Stan and Eddie were, but there wasn’t much Richie felt he could do about it now. He just relaxed into the embrace, into the extra warmth and the softness of Bill’s hair against his cheek. He wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially if that gift was a cuddly Bill Denbrough. 

The bed was empty when Richie woke up. He was almost grateful for that, letting his body relax a little as he rolled onto his back. He’d been both dreading and anticipating sharing a bed with Bill, simultaneously worried for it and wanting it more than just about anything. Realistically, he’d expected nothing to happen. And, almost nothing had. Almost. Richie suddenly missed Bill, sitting up, when as if on cue, Bill walked into the room.

Richie fell back down, averting his eyes to the ceiling. Bill was next to naked with a towel around his waist, his hair still wet enough to drip a couple stray droplets of water onto his shoulders and down his chest. 

“Everyone else is awake.” Bill told him, Richie using acknowledgement as an excuse to look over, trying not to be too obvious with the up-and-down that he couldn’t help but do. If Bill noticed he said nothing, walking over to his suitcase. “If you want to shower, go ahead and do it now. Eddie and Mike are making breakfast.”

“Okay.” Richie managed out, the word a momentous feat considering just how hard he was biting his tongue. He scrambled out of the room just in time to hear the towel hit the bedroom floor. 

He ran into Ben on his way down the hall, quite literally, his friend making a small sound as the collision caused him to lose his balance. Ben pinwheeled his arms, leaning against the hallway wall, and Richie decided to flop onto his shoulder. 

“You feeling alright?” Ben asked, nothing but concerned, and Richie let out an anguished groan. 

“I’m dying, Benny Boy.” It was only a little bit of an exaggeration. 

“You are?” Miraculously, Ben still sounded worried.

“What else am I supposed to be doing when I can’t lick the person that I really, really want to?” 

Ben made a startled noise in response, a dry voice behind them. 

“You shut up about it and jack off in the shower like an adult.” It was Stan, Richie turning on his heel to reach out and grip Stan by the shoulders. 

“He was in a towel, Stan. Just. A towel.” 

A smirk twisted Stan’s expression. “I know. He asked me to get him some clothes from your room, but I said he should just walk on in. Told him that you wouldn’t mind.” 

“I’m going to kill you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Are…” Ben’s eyes had gone wide, and Richie remembered something.  _ The only people that don’t know might just be Ben.  _ “Are you guys talking about Bill?” Those wide eyes fixed on Richie. “You want to lick Bill?” 

Richie tried to think of something funny to say. He really did. But Stan was already cackling, so he just turned away and got in the shower. And what he thought about while he was in there was completely his business.

They had a proper day out on the town, Beverly showing them all of her favorite places in her area of Portland. It was fun, chattering and joking as they went, listening to Beverly tell stories about each of the locations as they walked. They ate out for lunch, got more ice cream at a different little shop, and terrorized the aisles of the local grocery store for dinner food. The seven of them had fun wherever they went, but there was something so lovely about being able to do the simple things together, things like walking around the neighborhood or shopping for groceries. By the time they’d all settled around the kitchen table at the end of the day, with their homemade meal on the table in front of them, Richie felt his heart so full of love for his friends that it might burst. He was just so… So content, with the six of them. 

The mood seemed to be contagious, all of them squishing onto the couch together after dinner, and when Richie decided to go to bed Bill left with him, walking so close that their shoulders kept brushing together. Richie was careful to lay in the same place as he had the night before, infinitely surprised when Bill laid down closer to him, close enough to be touching him. 

“I…” Bill’s voice was soft in the dark room, and at the sound of it, Richie could suddenly feel his heartbeat in his mouth. “I f-felt like a bit of a mess, when Erika broke up with me. Thanks for everything.” 

“Thanks?” Richie turned. Bill’s face was close, that much Richie could see. His features weren’t very distinct through the darkness, but Richie knew them all by heart anyway. “I haven’t done anything, man.” 

“Then thanks for, f-for…” Bill… He sounded nervous, nerves the only time his now-defeated stutter tripped up his tongue. “Thanks for being you then, I guess.” 

Silence. And Richie… Richie had to act, unable to help himself.

“Hey, Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna hug you now, dude.” 

Bill laughed a little, Richie reaching out and finding him under the sheets. Bill shifted forward accommodatingly, lifting his head to let Richie slide an arm under him. They were like that for a while, and while that slight and anxious thrum was still stirring in Richie’s chest at the opportunity to touch Bill, it wasn’t nearly enough to disrupt that feeling of contentment that had all but sunken into his bones throughout the day. 

Then Bill leaned in close, closer,  _ closer…  _ And blew a raspberry against Richie’s bare collarbone. Richie squawked in alarm, Bill’s laughter ringing out, and then Richie had to retaliate, wetting his pinky finger with his tongue and trying to stick it into Bill’s ear. There was a grapple on the bed as Bill tried to keep his hand at bay, the sheets getting hopelessly twisted as they wrestled, Bill laughing the entire time. He had an iron grip on Richie’s wrist though, so eventually Richie had to concede defeat, breathing hard as he flopped back against his--now horribly crooked--pillow. 

They were even more tangled up in each other than before, their legs a mess, Richie’s arm now resting across Bill’s chest, Bill more-or-less curled under his arm, the fingers of one hand still around Richie’s wrist, their grip slack. 

“Richie?” 

“Yeah?” Too quickly to realize it as it happened, Richie now noticed that Bill’s entire body was tense. He was fully expecting Bill to tell him to move, to get off of him, to move to the opposite side of the bed, for him to sleep on the floor, on the couch in the living room,  _ outside of the house on the porch-- _

“I love you.” 

Richie was glad that the answer was automatic, because he felt his heart wasn’t moving in his chest anymore. 

“I love you too, man.” 

“Yeah?” 

“‘Course I do, Big Bill.” 

Bill made a small noise, somewhere between an exhale and a laugh, relaxing completely under Richie’s arm. He was asleep in a matter of minutes. 

The group had saved up a decent amount of money, wanting to be ready for any and all shenanigans they could get up to in Portland. Maybe they’d gotten old and boring over their high school career, because they found themselves on the last day of their stay with a rather large amount of spending money left, and nothing much else that they wanted to spend it on. Then Eddie brought up the rule that Beverly’s uncle had set about having to replace any of the liquor they drank in cash, and they collectively decided to spend their final night with Beverly getting completely smashed. 

Due to a lack of fake IDs, cool parents, or a collective ability to lie, Richie had only been drunk a handful of times, and only at some random kid from school’s party that ended up having an open invite. They all drank pretty slowly--probably because all Beverly’s uncle had was actual, hard liquor, nothing fun and fruity--but they were all awful lightweights, and it didn’t take too long to get the party going. 

Eddie got drunk first, partially because of his size and partially because he decided to slam a couple of shots of rum from glasses way too big to be shot glasses. He cranked up the music and started dancing, Beverly quickly getting up to join him. Ben got up next, and when Ben started dancing, they all started dancing. 

They danced, ate, talked about nothing, and played ten hopelessly fast games of Jenga, only stopping because they couldn’t quite figure out how to put the tower back together for the eleventh time and just decided to leave the blocks on the floor. Eddie and Bill got into a pillow fight on the couch, Mike next to them, half dozing off and half hitting them both in the face when the opportunity arose. Ben found himself with a lapful of Stan, who was now so drunk that he’d gotten to the stage where he began a very emotional monologue to each of his friends about how much he loved them. It was something that he only half believed that he actually did, and would vehemently deny in the morning. 

Richie himself had been rather slow to drink, but was also the only one still drinking, everyone else either sufficiently drunk or done for the night anyway. Beverly and Bill seemed the most put together, Beverly with a large glass of water in her hand, Bill saving Eddie from falling face-first off the couch. 

The party was declared over when Stan, after falling into Beverly’s lap and calling her pretty, was called pretty in return and began to cry. She kissed him on the forehead and dumped him on Mike, the two of them tottering to bed, Stan babbling about how big and strong and handsome and  _ lovely  _ Mike was as they went. 

“Bill!” Richie exclaimed, dragging himself over to Bill, sitting in the spot that Mike had left and getting very, very close. God, Richie loved the freckles that had littered themselves across the bridge of Bill’s nose. “Do you think I’m big and strong and handsome and lovely?” 

Bill laughed a little. “I think you need to go to bed.” 

Richie made a bit of a noncommittal noise at that. He was tired; he could feel his eyelids drooping. 

“Am I pretty?” 

“Pretty fucking annoying, yeah.” Bill got to his feet. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll help you.”

“I’m not that drunk.” Richie protested. Then he actually got to his feet, swayed so heavily that he had to grab onto Eddie’s head for balance--Eddie didn’t seem to notice--and yeah, maybe he was that drunk. “Okay.”

Richie wrapped an arm around Bill’s shoulders as they went, Bill holding onto his waist. 

“I’m not that drunk.” Richie protested again. “My feet are just like… Fucking huge? I have clown feet? Shit, be careful. I might trip you on accident. Be careful.” 

“I will.” Bill’s voice was amused. “I’ll be careful.” 

“You can’t get hurt.” Richie continued. This was important; Bill needed to know this. “Not like… Ever, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“Good. You can’t get hurt. I love you too much.”

“That’s nice.” 

“Bill.” They were in the bedroom now, in front of the bed, but Richie didn’t want to let Bill go, wrapping his other arm around Bill’s neck as well. Bill had planted his legs in an attempt to half hold up Richie’s weight, his feet on both sides of Richie’s own. Bill was so handsome up close. 

“Thanks.” Bill was avoiding Richie’s eyes now, the nonsensical statement making Richie realize something. Was he thinking out loud? That was really dangerous. “C’mon, you need to lie down.”

But Richie didn’t want to let go of him, Bill leaning over the bed in an attempt to drop his body on the mattress. But maybe Richie was too heavy, or too long, or his big clown feet got in the way, and then Bill was on top of him. 

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ This was nice. Richie liked this very much. Bill was warm, and heavy enough for Richie to feel comfortably pinned in place—not that he wanted to move. At all. Possibly ever. 

Richie slid one hand up, running it through the hair at the base of Bill’s neck. He couldn’t be entirely sure if the shiver he felt through Bill’s body was real, or just something he wanted to be real. 

“Richie.” Bill said softly. Bill’s voice could be so, so incredibly soft. “You’re drunk.”

“Yeah.” Richie murmured back. All he wanted to do was pull Bill just that little bit closer and kiss him. But god, he was so drunk. 

The rest of the night went unremembered. 

The first thing Richie was aware of the next morning was a horrible, cottony taste in his mouth. The second was the soft angles of Bill’s still-sleeping body next to him on the bed. The third was that if he didn’t get out of this bedroom and to a toilet in the next thirty seconds, he was going to get hangover barf all over himself. 

He managed to make it to a bathroom, re-emerging to the kitchen to find that Beverly, bless her heart and soul, had called her uncle to bring them all burgers for breakfast, the man watching in amusement as he handed out ibuprofen. 

“I’d think you all owed me an entire liquor cabinet, with the way you all are groaning!” He exclaimed, met with a chorus of complaints at the loud noise. Something bumped into Richie’s shoulder rather hard, Richie turning to see what it was, wondering if it was intentional. 

It was Bill, and it wasn’t intentional. Bill had finally surfaced from their room, looking rather put together, his suitcase by his feet. He had put his hands over his ears at Beverly’s uncle, and had hit Richie with his stray elbow. Richie grinned at him, a greeting on his lips, but when their eyes met Bill just backed up and turned completely away from him. The movement seemed anxious and clearly avoidant, and Richie felt the smile slip off his lips. 

They packed up the car with a lot of help from Beverly’s uncle, who accepted their gratitude for the week readily, saying he was glad that they had a good time. Then they had to say goodbye to Beverly, getting tight hugs and cheek kisses and promising that they would see each other again soon, that they were only a couple hours away if she needed them, and to call for any and every reason. She said the same things back, though they all knew that the offers went both ways. 

Ben, the strongest of them when it came to recovering quickly, took up the driver’s seat. His sense of direction was startlingly atrocious though, so Eddie was placed in the passenger seat to help him. Fiercely hungover Stan and equally hungover Mike collapsed together in the backseat, leaving Bill and Richie again in the middle. They weren’t squeezed in next to each other this time, and as a result the middle seat was between them, somehow feeling more like a concrete wall than empty air. Bill hadn’t spoken a word in Richie’s direction, or even looked at him, and Richie couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. 

Eddie pulled one of Mike’s caps down over his eyes, Ben started up the van, and with waves and blown kisses from Beverly, they were off. Richie wasn’t completely sure how Eddie was going to help navigate without being able to see, but he supposed it would be better than nothing. They would get home eventually. Or wouldn’t, and they would be driven into the Atlantic Ocean. Which was fine by Richie too, if Bill decided he wasn’t ever going to speak to him again. 

Richie tried to think back to the night before, to figure out what it was that he’d done, but all of the memories he had of the evening were hazy with hard liquor. They’d had fun; he remembered that. Nothing had seemed bad, or mortifying. Had he said something that he shouldn’t have?  _ Done  _ something he shouldn’t have? He didn’t think he had, but fucking something up was very much his speed. It wasn’t entirely out of character. 

After the longest, quietest, most torturous forty-five minutes of Richie’s life, Stan shot upright from the back. 

“We gotta stop.” He said. “I’m gonna throw up in Richie’s suitcase if we don’t.” 

“Hey!” Richie shouted back at him. Stan looked really and truly green, so Eddie helped direct Ben to the nearest bathroom. They ended up parking at some sort of rest stop, a big area that was mostly a park with dog trails. Stan ran inside immediately, Mike following after him, and Richie grabbed Eddie and pulled him aside.

“Question for you, my love.” 

Eddie didn’t even lift the hat. “What?” 

“Did I… Did I do anything dumb last night?” 

Eddie fell silent for a long moment. So long, actually, that Richie thought that maybe he was being ignored. Then he let out a long breath. 

“Gonna be honest, Rich. I don’t remember. Probably?” 

That was helpful. Richie tried Ben next. 

“Not that I can think of. I remember thinking that you were actually acting a little tame. Just… Watching, sort of.” 

“Watching?” 

“Yeah. You did a lot of staring at Bill, but I don’t think he noticed.”

Richie glanced around for Bill now. He’d gone and sat down at one of the many picnic tables at the rest stop, his chin in one hand. Knowing that he wasn’t going to get much better of an answer from Mike or Stan, Richie decided to just bite the bullet, walking up to Bill.

“What the fuck?” He asked, sitting down across from Bill at the table. Or rather, he flung himself into the seat; if he was going to have a tantrum, he might as well commit to it. “You’re avoiding me.”

The last three words were what got Bill’s attention. His eyes snapped to Richie’s own, and it felt like releasing a breath that had been building up pressure in Richie’s lungs. 

“Well?” Richie asked. “Why?” 

Bill glanced away again. “It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit.” 

“Really--”

“Did I do something?” Richie cut off his dismissal. “When I was drunk, or something?” He tried to play this off, fixing Bill with a pseudo-serious look and lowering his voice. “Did I pinch your butt?” 

Thankfully, Bill laughed. “No.” He said. “You didn’t do anything to my butt.” 

“That’s a relief. Butt scenarios were like, concerns one through twelve on my list.” Now that Bill had loosened up slightly, Richie tried again. “What happened, then?” 

Bill let out a breath. He looked down at the table, but this time he began to speak. 

“I helped you back to our room last night, and you were really drunk, so you were kinda… Hanging on me, a lot. And when I was trying to put you on our-- _ t-the _ bed--” The slip-up stutter had Bill’s cheeks flushing-- “I kinda fell on top of you. And then you put your hands in my hair, and… And said you didn’t want me to get off of you.” 

Bill’s face was incredibly red, and Richie could feel that his cheeks were burning too. Still, with Bill's reaction he'd been expecting worse, and he told Bill so. 

“It’s not like I haven’t dragged you around before.” He said, trying to sound nonchalant, as though wrestling and hopelessly enamored and drunken clinging were roughly the same thing. He tried to pull another joke. “What, did I have a boner or something?” 

“Yeah, a little.” Bill admitted, and while Richie was reeling from that, he continued. “I mean, I did too, a little bit.” 

Oh. Well. 

“I… Sorry.” Richie finally decided to say. 

“It’s fine.”

“Well, it seems like it wasn’t fine, Billy Goat.” 

“No, the...T-the problem was that I didn’t mind.”

“You…” Richie felt as though he’d been hit upside the head. “You gotta help me out here, dude. What the hell are you trying to say?” 

“You know how Erika never liked you?” Bill asked, and Richie figured he should probably just give up on trying to predict where this conversation was going or he would actually give himself whiplash. “I never told you why.”

“You said she thought I was annoying.”

“Okay yeah, that was part of it. But I was dating her because I was trying to get over someone else, a guy I liked, and I think that seeing us together was what helped her figure out that I wasn’t entirely straight.”

Richie couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. 

“She didn’t like me because what, she thought hanging out with me turned you gay?”

“She didn’t like you because you were the guy I was trying to get over, and she realized that the entire time we were dating, I never did.” 

Richie couldn’t do more than sit there, dumbfounded, the sentence replaying itself relentlessly in his head. It was Bill breaking eye contact and glancing away that snapped Richie out of it. 

“I, but… Never—you never said—”

“I never came out to you because I was worried that you’d see it.” Bill’s eyes were on his hands, on the rough wooden tabletop. “That you would notice how I felt.”

_ The guy I was trying to get over. _

_ I never did. _

“Hey, Bill?” Richie tried incredibly hard for casual. His tone missed by a mile. “Do you still like me?” 

Bill looked up again. “Yeah.” 

“Thank fucking god.” Richie said, then he surged forward and caught Bill’s face in a kiss. 

It was clumsy, leaning all the way across the table, and yeah,  _ ouch,  _ Richie definitely had a splinter in one of his palms, but it was more than worth it to be kissing Bill Denbrough. 

Bill pulled back, but not to speak or stop him; Bill tugged him forward until Richie was sitting up on the table then stood up too, wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck and pulling him in. He kissed Richie firmly, soundly, like he’d never done anything more important in his life, and it was all Richie had just to wrap his arms around Bill’s waist and revel in it. 

After what felt like a concerningly long amount of time for Stan, but entirety not long enough for Richie, Stan and Mike resurfaced from the rest stop, and it was time to all pile back into the car. But, like when he first realized his crush, Richie felt again that he couldn’t stop touching Bill, didn’t want to, and now Bill completely indulged him.

“Richie and I are sitting in the back.” Bill said to Mike and Stan. “You guys stretch out in the middle seat, okay?”

“Oh god, don’t do anything gross back there.” Eddie whined, pulling his hat back down. “I’m not going to look, but remember that we can hear you.”

“How do you know that we’re going to be gross?” Richie asked innocently, Eddie just offering back a death glare. Though truly, Richie knew Eddie was right, what with the way Bill was already tugging at him, his lips already touching Richie’s neck. 

“I like you.” Bill told him, blunt, honest, his voice completely free of nerves, and it made Richie so happy to hear. 

“Yeah?” 

“And you like me?”

“God, so much, dude.” 

“Good. Took you fucking long enough.” 

“Hey!” Richie protested, Bill beginning to laugh at him, and the delight on his face was an expression, a look, a  _ feeling  _ that Richie could already tell he would be trying to make Bill feel for the rest of his life. It wasn’t a task he minded; it was all he wanted to do, something he felt he'd been doing since he and Bill first met. He pressed a messy kiss to Bill’s cheek, getting a squirm and protesting laugh in response. So he did it to Bill’s other cheek, then his forehead, then his nose. He kept going, kissing Bill everywhere except his lips, until Bill was grappling with him in the seat, half trying to kiss him back and half trying to get away. 

“Fuck off, Rich.” He finally said through laughs, and Richie leaned away. 

“Oh? Oh really?” 

“Really.” 

“Bite me, Denbrough.” 

So Bill did, leaning close and nipping at Richie’s bottom lip, and oh. That was new. That was good. There wasn’t much talking after that for the whole drive home.


End file.
